Tag Archives: boobs

Like any rite of passage, the pleasure comes only after the pain. The pain of dreading it, actually doing it, getting through it. Then the pleasure of having done it — the most pleasing sense of accomplishment and acceptance that only this particular rite can bring.

I’m talking about my very first mammogram! Here are some totally random thoughts I’ll now share:

The nurses, technician and radiologists weren’t sadists. Instead, they were genuinely caring helpmates, as only other women can be. (Sorry if I’m being sexist!)

I’m so, so happy that I didn’t get implants until after a couple of years of estrogen therapy. If my implants were any bigger, I’m sure they would have burst during the procedure!

As my breasts were being flattened by the machine — first one and then the other — I encouraged my thoughts to wander — to distract me from the pain. What better thoughts than erotic fantasies!

So I imagined now in the room with me a lover (or maybe several lovers!) who normally fondled and kissed and licked and suckled my titties. But now he was using a machine to vicariously (and forcefully!) “caress” my breasts. It gave him intense pleasure to see just how tight my breasts could be squeezed!

Thinking this thought — do I dare admit? — I felt something getting ever so slightly hard in my panties. And I smiled.

“Tighter! Tighter!” he commanded. And the harder and harder I got.

Yes, I smiled. The medical personnel complimented me on how incredibly brave I was.

Am I doing this right? Posing for the camera is harder than you think!

Do I dare? Go topless, that is. It’s commonplace — going topless — at beaches and spas around Europe. But, still, I worry and wonder.

Most men couldn’t tell — and wouldn’t care if they could — but I know most women could spot right away that I’ve had implants. “Not real,” their eyes would say. And if my boobs aren’t real, what else about me is not real, too?

I’m inviting needless scrutiny.

And then there’s this: I think tan lines from a bikini top are incredibly sexy. Don’t you?